


Then and Now

by yalublyutebya



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Multiple Pov, One Shot, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-12
Updated: 2012-03-12
Packaged: 2017-11-01 20:36:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/360974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yalublyutebya/pseuds/yalublyutebya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if for the past 5 years Sherlock and Lestrade were married?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Then and Now

**Author's Note:**

> Previously posted on LJ.

John had never really spent much time alone with Lestrade and there was a definite awkwardness as they sat side-by-side in the hospital waiting room. Sherlock was currently in the operating room, having a number of pieces from the pool they had just destroyed removed from his abdomen. Luckily for him, none of them had caused much damage and the surgery was minor. John himself had escaped with a bruised collarbone and a scattering of superficial cuts - and he was thanking his lucky stars. Early reports seemed to suggest only part of the Semtex had been ignited when the bullet hit it, and thank God, because John was quite sure neither he nor Sherlock would have lived to tell the tale if the explosion had been of the same magnitude as the previous ones.   
  
Mycroft had left shortly after learning that his brother would be perfectly fine, but Lestrade had remained behind with John. It struck John as a little odd, given the somewhat strained nature of Lestrade’s relationship with Sherlock at times, but there was an edge in his expression, something like concern, that stopped John from speculating further. For now, all they could do was wait.   
  
About an hour into their wait, Lestrade disappeared off in search of a hot drink and returned with two teas, handing one to John as he took his seat once more.  
  
“Cheers.”  
  
“No problem. I can’t say anything about the quality, but at least it’s hot.”  
  
John smiled into his cup and took a sip of the warm drink and another few minutes passed in awkward silence. John found himself looking around the bland room, eyes flicking over the posters he had already read at least three times and back round to the man next to him. Lestrade sat with arms crossed, his chin resting on his chest, looking tired. John tried to put the observational skills he had learnt from Sherlock into practice by deducing the man next to him, who he realised he knew next to nothing about, aside from the fact that he was a DI at Scotland Yard.   
  
When John’s gaze swept to the ring on Lestrade’s left hand, he paused.  
  
“I didn’t realise you were married,” he commented, eyes taking in the unusual pattern on the gold band.  
  
Lestrade looked up at him, back down at his ring, and back up at John again.  
  
“Divorced, actually,” he admitted with a half-smile.  
  
“Oh, sorry.”  
  
“It’s fine. It was an... amicable split. I should really take the ring off, but, well, it’s useful for   
deflecting unwanted attention.”  
  
John smiled and now that they had found something to talk about - and Lestrade seemed okay talking about it - he spoke up again.  
  
“No kids?”  
  
Lestrade gave him a somewhat cryptic smile and shook his head.   
  
“No.”  
  
John wasn’t sure what to make of the smile that accompanied the answer and he frowned. A moment later, Lestrade huffed out a laugh as he continued. “Sorry, I probably should have mentioned it was actually a civil partnership.”  
  
“Oh.” That was a surprise. “Oh, right.”  
  
Where before John had been trying to imagine the former Mrs. Lestrade, he now found himself trying to picture a Mr. Lestrade - and drew a blank.   
  
“Are you here with Sherlock Holmes?”  
  
Both John and Lestrade looked up as the nurse spoke and rose to their feet to hear the news.  
  
****  
  
“Sherlock, where’s my chequebook?” John called out, going to the desk and opening one of the overfull drawers.  
  
“How should I know?” Sherlock answered as he appeared from his bedroom and flopped onto the sofa - although with something less than his usual abandon, due to the healing stitches in his side.  
  
“How -” John cut himself off and turned to glare at his flatmate, “Sherlock, you were using it the other day to compare counterfoils or something. I told you I’d need it back.”  
  
“It’s around somewhere,” Sherlock offered with a dismissive wave as he pulled out a book from under the sofa and opened it up.  
  
John rolled his eyes and went back to the drawer, pushing aside papers and a stapler and what appeared to be an antique brooch. He pulled out a pile of newspaper cuttings and put them on the desk out of the way, before sifting through more of the papers.   
  
“Bloody ridiculous,” he muttered to himself, shoving an envelope stuffed with paper clips out of the way. He caught a glimpse of gold that made him pause, before he pulled the envelope out of the way to reveal a small gold ring. He pulled it out, curious, and his gaze instantly went to the unusual design.  
  
“Sherlock, I know you said you like to pickpocket Lestrade when he annoys you, but don’t you think stealing his wedding ring is a bit much?!” John commented, turning to hold it up towards Sherlock.  
  
Sherlock didn’t even look up from his book as he replied. “That’s not Lestrade’s ring.”  
  
“Sherlock, I saw this ring three days ago, on Lestrade’s finger.”  
  
“No,” Sherlock countered, his gaze still fixed on his book, “You didn’t see that ring. You saw an almost identical ring. You’ll find that one’s two sizes smaller than Lestrade’s.”  
  
John looked at the ring, then back at Sherlock.  
  
“Okay, why have you stolen Lestrade’s ex-husband’s ring?”  
  
Sherlock sighed loudly, rolled his eyes, and finally turned his attention on John.  
  
“Must you really be so slow?” he snapped, before throwing himself to his feet and making his way over to John. As soon as he could reach, he snatched the ring from John’s hand and slid it smoothly onto the ring finger of his left hand. “There. Do you see?” He held up his hand in front of John’s face and then slipped the ring off and into the pocket of his dressing gown, before turning and throwing himself - carefully - back onto the sofa.  
  
A moment passed in silence. John was struggling to connect Sherlock’s words and the ring and Lestrade’s half-smile and...  
  
“You. You and Lestrade.”  
  
Sherlock, having returned his attention to his book, just rolled his eyes.   
  
“You were married.”  
  
“John, if you’re going to stand there and point out the obvious, I might just have to ask you to leave.”  
  
John shook his head, trying to snap himself out of his daze.   
  
“You were married to Lestrade!” At Sherlock’s warning glare, John held up his hands in surrender. “I’m sorry, it’s just... I had no idea. Why didn’t you tell me?”  
  
“It’s irrelevant information.”  
  
“But it’s -” John didn’t even know what he wanted to say, other than to point out the overwhelmingly surreal idea of Sherlock - the self-confessed sociopath - being married to anyone, let alone Lestrade. Sherlock let out another huff and turned his piercing gaze on John.  
  
“In answer to the questions you will no doubt feel the need to subject me to: we were together for four and half years, married for three, divorced just over four months ago. No, I did not change my name, neither did he. Yes, everyone else knows.”  
  
After he had finished, Sherlock turned back to his book with an expression that quite clearly stated he would hear no more on the subject.  
  
****  
  
Five days later, Lestrade finally put an end to Sherlock’s enforced convalescence and called him to a crime scene with five bodies and a dead dog. Much to Sherlock’s annoyance, after a cursory inspection of the bodies, John spent most of his time watching Sherlock and Lestrade, no doubt trying to find new meaning in every word and gesture. The insufferable man seemed just as disbelieving as he had been five days ago, despite Sherlock finally losing his patience the previous evening and depositing a manila envelope of photos on his flatmate’s lap - photos of the small civil ceremony and a few other miscellaneous photos of himself and Greg over the years. Sherlock had left the flat then and when he returned home, the envelope was on his bed and John was nowhere in sight.  
  
As Sherlock stood by one of the bodies, deep in thought and resolutely ignoring John’s eyes on him, Lestrade approached and stood next to him, taking in the scene. Sherlock glanced at him once, then returned his attention to the body.  
  
“Lover’s tiff?” Greg asked with a smile in his voice. Sherlock sent him a particularly vicious glare in reply, before turning back to the body.  
  
“John found my wedding ring,” he said, eyes flicking over the defensive wounds on the victim’s wrists.   
  
“Ah.”  
  
A pause and he felt Greg’s attention shift across the room, and then back to him.  
  
“Maybe you should have just come out and told him in the first place,” he commented quietly, the Like I told you remaining unsaid.   
  
“I don’t see that it has any reflection on our friendship. Or my work.”  
  
“No,” Lestrade answered with a laugh, “No, you wouldn’t.”  
  
Sherlock lifted his head to level another scowl at the DI, but he was already moving away to talk to Donovan and Sherlock was left to scowl at the floor instead.   
  
He and John left the crime scene twenty minutes later and made their way to a late dinner at Angelo’s. Sherlock ate a few bites of his pasta before pushing it aside to better focus his thoughts, but he could feel John’s eyes on him still and it was grating, distracting.  
  
“What is it?” he finally blurted out, fixing his gaze on the other man in an attempt to intimidate him. Unfortunately, it was a trick that had never worked on John Watson to date.  
  
“You still respect him. Lestrade, I mean. It was an amicable split. You still work together, after all.”  
  
Sherlock lifted an eyebrow, annoyance and surprise warring for prominence.  
  
“And you...” John hesitated a moment, then continued, “You still care about him. On some level. Probably not the same as before, but enough... I think he cares for you too. That’s why he stayed at the hospital, why he puts up with you.”  
  
John’s deductive ability was getting better and better - sometimes to Sherlock’s delight but right now, to his annoyance.  
  
“I’m not quite heartless, John,” he said in a low voice, his gaze drifting to the window, “Whatever you may believe of me. There was a reason I was married to the man, after all. And he did marry me of his own free will, I assure you, much as I’m sure it’s difficult to imagine anyone being in love with someone like me.” It was hard to keep the disdain from his voice, because there were those who thought exactly that when he and Greg had been together.   
  
“No,” John said softly, drawing Sherlock’s attention to him, “No, it’s not difficult, Sherlock.”  
  
There was something in his expression, a sadness almost, but it was gone a moment later and Sherlock had no time to understand it. John turned back to his own pasta and Sherlock returned his gaze to the street outside, his thoughts racing.   
  
****  
  
Greg knew something was not quite right as soon as he set foot in his apartment, but it wasn’t until he made his way into the living room to find Sherlock sprawled out across the couch, hands tucked under his chin in thought - how many times had Greg come home to this sight? - that he was able to pinpoint the source. As he slipped out of his coat and hung it up, he glanced at Sherlock, who had barely acknowledged his entrance.  
  
“You know, most people don’t regard a decree absolute as an invitation to drop by whenever they feel like it,” he commented idly, moving to the couch and making a shooing motion as Sherlock finally looked up at him. “Budge up, I’m knackered.”  
  
With the smallest sigh of resignation, Sherlock pushed himself into a seated position, those long legs still sprawled out over most of the couch. Greg rolled his eyes but sank into the small space left and let his head rest tiredly against the back of the couch. It had been a long day, and judging by Sherlock’s ominous silence and unidentifiable mood, it could be about to get longer. Then, to his surprise, he felt Sherlock’s weight settle against his side and he automatically lifted his arm, allowing the other man’s head to come to  a rest against his shoulder. Sherlock still had his back to Greg and Greg could see the tension in the lines of his shoulders, showing that he knew full well this was not necessarily something one did with one’s ex-husband. If there was anything he had learnt in their years as a couple though, it was that Sherlock sometimes needed simple physical closeness with another person, and yet after all these years, he still didn’t know how to just ask.   
  
“Case?” he asked, deciding to just go with it.  
  
“No,” Sherlock replied, relaxing just a tiny amount when he realised Greg wasn’t going to comment on his strange behaviour. No further explanation seemed forthcoming and Greg smiled fondly - they had played this scene a hundred, a thousand times and Sherlock would tell him what was on his mind, eventually.   
  
“So you just decided to break into my flat because you find the furnishings more comfortable?” Greg asked, trying and failing to keep a straight face and knowing that Sherlock would hear it in his voice. Sherlock harrumphed and crossed his arms across his chest, a gesture Greg knew all too well and that didn’t necessarily bode well for him getting to sleep tonight.  
  
“Sherlock, why are you here?” he asked softly, brushing the back of his hand against the other man’s arm.  
  
“It was too noisy at home.”  
  
Generally, that was Sherlock-speak for his thoughts being distracted by someone else. He had often complained about noise when it had been the two of them, alone in their house.   
  
“What’s John done now then?”  
  
“The man is insufferable!” Sherlock blurted out, “He’s always fussing around and making tea and forcing me to eat and going on about hygiene and all these pointless little things that no-one cares about.”  
  
Greg smiled at the back of Sherlock’s head because, really, sometimes Sherlock had all the subtlety of a teenage boy. It made Greg feel awfully old.  
  
“Ask him to find somewhere else to live then,” Greg suggested, knowing exactly the reaction it would cause and sure enough, Sherlock tensed.  
  
“I don’t want -”  
  
Sherlock didn’t finish his sentence but his meaning was clear enough.  
  
“You like him.”  
  
“He’s tolerable,” Sherlock said, quickly following it with: “He thinks he can make me a better man. Reminds me of you sometimes.”  
  
Greg huffed out a laugh and then spoke up again.  
  
“You really like him. You fancy him.”  
  
“Don’t be ridiculous, Greg,” Sherlock answered instantly, the lack of hesitation telling, “John is my friend. And, in any case, he’s straight.”  
  
Greg couldn’t hold back his laugh at that and Sherlock pushed himself up, swivelling to face him with a bewildered expression.  
  
“Sherlock,” he said, trying to school his expression into seriousness, “Even if he were straight, which I’m pretty sure he’s not by the way, that’s not a very good defence on your part.”  
  
Sherlock went to protest but Greg held up a hand, silencing him.  
  
“I know you. I’ve seen you, for Christ’s sake, the way you look at him.”  
  
“I don’t know what you mean.”  
  
“Sherlock,” he said softly, “Just tell him.”  
  
“I don’t -”  
  
“You do. And so does he.”  
  
“What?!”  
  
“I’ve seen the way he looks at you too. I wish you’d just pull your fingers out and shag already.”  
  
Sherlock blinked at him once, twice, and Greg smiled - it was nice to occasionally find a way to silence Sherlock Holmes.   
  
“You don’t...” Sherlock started, cleared his throat and looked away, then continued hesitantly, “You don’t think he’s straight?”  
  
“He’s got a date with Gregson next Tuesday.”  
  
“Gregson?!” Sherlock exclaimed angrily, “When did he -”  
  
Sherlock cut himself off and Greg could see him going through their last crime scene in his head, knew the moment he remembered seeing John and Gregson together. Sherlock had been so wrapped up in his own brilliance he hadn’t even noticed the flirting, the exchange of numbers - and John’s brief, tortured look in Sherlock’s direction as he slipped Gregson’s number into his pocket.  
  
“I think he got tired of waiting, Sherlock,” Greg said sympathetically.  
  
Sherlock looked momentarily lost and Greg squeezed his arm, affection for this ridiculous man overtaking him.  
  
“But he was so shocked by the idea of us being married,” Sherlock murmured, his mind still visibly processing data, memories.  
  
“Sherlock, have you shown any interest in anyone since he moved in with you? Have you been on a date? Have you even flirted with anyone - and I don’t mean as part of an act.”  
  
“No.”  
  
“You’re not the easiest person to read, Sherlock, especially when it comes to things like relationships.”  
  
Sherlock considered this for a moment and then he dropped his somewhat sheepish gaze to the couch. “I may also have told him I was married to my work, and I, err, I may have made my sexual orientation somewhat...ambiguous.”  
  
Greg laughed and Sherlock gave him a crooked smile.   
  
“I haven’t seen you like this in a while,” Greg commented in a low tone, “I was worried about you. I thought you might just cut yourself off completely, focus only on the work.”  
  
Sherlock held his gaze and Greg smiled softly, squeezing Sherlock’s arm once more and releasing it.  
  
“He’s good for you.”  
  
Sherlock watched him for several more moments, before speaking up.  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
Sherlock leaned forward and brushed a chaste kiss over his lips, before turning and pushing himself to his feet. He stopped at the end of the couch and their gazes met and held for a long moment, before Sherlock finally left with a tiny smile.  
  
****  
  
At the next crime scene, it was plain to see that the relationship between Sherlock and his flatmate had changed dramatically and Greg let out a sigh of relief, glad that they had finally stopped dancing around each other. They were both practically buoyant with happiness and aglow with the smug satisfaction of the newly-intimate. Greg paused, momentarily delaying his next question for Sherlock when, whilst discussing the body with bowed heads, Sherlock skimmed long, gloved fingers over John’s wrist and they shared a small smile. And he tried very hard not to notice the love bite just visible below John’s collar when he shifted - happy as he was for them, it was not an image he wanted, although his brain couldn’t help noting that some habits (or, predilections) never changed.  
  
In short, they were not overly subtle - despite thinking they were - and the rest of the team soon noticed the looks, the casual touches, the shared smiles. When Sally Donovan threw Greg something like a worried look, Greg shook his head and gave her a pacifying smile. He was honestly fine with this situation and he supposed that was proof enough that the divorce had been the right choice: he and Sherlock had been drifting apart for months before it finally came to the decision, both caught up in their own lives, and even though they still cared for each other, it just hadn’t been the same anymore. Somewhere along the line the Detective Constable who just wanted to make a difference and the genius who was struggling to escape from years of drug addiction had become two very different people; they had matured, found their niches,  and had outgrown the passion that had brought them together years before.   
  
Greg didn’t regret a single moment of their time together - Sherlock had pushed him, challenged him, loved him in his own way and made him into the man he was today and looking across the room, he could see the changes he had wrought in return: from the shell of the addict had emerged an extraordinary, brilliant, confident and honourable man. A man Greg was sure would, with even more time, become something more, something great, something legendary. And, undoubtedly, with a certain John Watson at his side - loyal, determined and just as honourable.   
  
At that point in his reverie, he caught Sherlock’s gaze across the room and Sherlock smiled, one of those genuine, soft smiles he only ever doled out sparingly and Greg smiled back, warmed by the echo of a shared past, by affection old and new. Some part of him would always love Sherlock, would always marvel at him and admire him, but this chapter in their history was closed. Sherlock Holmes would be a great man, a good man, but from now on, Greg Lestrade would only watch from the sidelines as a new chapter began.  
  
  
---  
  
**Author's Note:**

> Fill for the following prompt at the sherlockbbc meme:  
> Here's a thought I just had. Doesn't it feel like Sherlock and Lestrade bicker like a divorced couple? Amiable, familiar but a little disappointed.  
> So what if for the past 5 years Sherlock and Lestrade were married. Recently they find they just don't love each other like they used to and end up getting a divorce. It was mutual and Lestrade still asks for Sherlock's help on cases but Sherlock needs a new flat and flat mate, enter John. If the story could involve Sherlock falling for John and coming to Lestrade for advice because he doesn't know who else to go to I would love you forever!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [A Thousand Words](https://archiveofourown.org/works/378261) by [nox_candida](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nox_candida/pseuds/nox_candida)




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